Reprise
by goodmourningmoon
Summary: While CIel and Sebastian are busy in Italy solving a murder case for the Queen, Lizzie is back at CIel's manor, learning about secrets that were hidden from her, and perhaps just a little bit about learning to love herself. This is a fan written sequel to Neneko's "Phobia" and directly references the comic as well as the characters in it. Warning for adult content and themes.
1. I am the Plague

_So much credit goes to the lovely Neneko from lairofthedevil for inspiring this story. This is meant to be a fanmade sequel to her fancomic "Phobia" and is meant to be read along side her "Obsessia". While Ciel and Sebastian are busy in Italy solving the Mary Ann Cotton case at the Belli mansion, Lizzie Middleford is back at Ciel's mansion and she's taking part in a far more grisly role than she did in "Phobia". _

_Some of the characters belong to Neneko and are not my own original characters. This is meant to be a fanmade sequel to "Phobia" and not a direct copy of it, so please keep an open mind to the changes in interpretation and characterization. Neneko is fabulous but I'm not Neneko, so please don't expect me to write the same way that she does. She was also kind enough to draw the cover illustration for Reprise as well. _

_Thank you to anyone who reads this story and an even bigger thank you to Neneko, who has helped and inspired me immeasurably in creating this. I look forward to an exciting future writing more stories with you, dear! 3 _

Part I: I am the Plague

_ Elizabeth sits in Ciel's basement in a fine green velvet robe, it drapes over her and she feels groggy, as if she doesn't know exactly why she's there. She recognizes this as a room that she and Ciel used to play hide and seek in when they were children. She knows it's remote, but she doesn't know why. She feels like she's had too much wine to drink and the Ciel kissing her isn't really Ciel. His chest isn't this soft, and neither are his lips, for that matter._

"Ciel, do you remember anything from that night?" Lizzie asked. She had been plagued with memories, or perhaps a lack of memories, a complete amnesia of a time in her life. She remembered meeting meeting Priscilla, then all of the sudden- nothing. It a week after the fact and it seemed like Priscilla didn't remember her at all.

"Elizabeth, don't make me tell you again- you tripped in the basement and smacked your head. That is _all_ that happened to you." Ciel reminded her. He was irritating Lizzie with his dismissive attitude. She did more than fall in the basement when Priscilla and her were exploring the manor, she had kissed the other girl! She couldn't remember it, but she was sure it had been more than once, too. Of course Ciel wouldn't remember that part of it, and if she had her way, she would have forgotten it as well.

"Ciel-"

"Elizabeth. You are _fine._"

"But I swear that Pris-"

"Is fine! Goodness you two just had tea! Just drop it. You both were fooling around in the basement and you both had fallen. You were fine in a few hours. It's normal and fine if you don't remember that night, the doctor said you were fine, _you are fine," _Ciel assured her, but she did not feel fine. She felt confused and she hated feeling like she didn't know what was happening in her life anymore.

"I think-"

"_Nothing._ Now, I will be leaving you here while I do a quick investigation in Italy with Sebastian. Can you promise me, _promise me_, that you will stay out of trouble?" Ciel asked her.

"Yes, dear." Lizzie nodded along. She'd stay out of trouble, she'd obey. She wouldn't ask more any more questions. Every girl in the country of roses is raised this way. With her head wrapped in cotton, nobody told her to think. Never question your lord, always be cute and meek. Wear gloves to cover the callouses on your hands. Don't wear make up or he can tell when you've been crying. Keep your voice soft even after puberty has deepened it. Tighten your corset, he won't care if you're not breathing but he tell when you're unfashionable. He's prettier than you.

"I promise I will be back as soon as I can and we can plan our wedding, alright?"

"I love you Ciel, stay safe." Lizzie said, waving goodbye. It would to have been out of line to suggest, than in the very least, she preferred the kisses from other girl over Ciel's. Lizzie doesn't feel as if his heart is in it, and she's questioning if hers should be in it, as well.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Elizabeth thinks Ciel is a liar. Or if he's not a liar, he is in he very least, omitting more information to Lizzie than she deems necessary. She goes to bed that night, alone, and in the silk nightie she had imported from Paris, France. It was pale lavender with black netting lace, and if Ciel were here instead of being in Italy with Sebastian- he would have appreciated it. She remembers seeing Priscilla wear a similar night gown when she was with... oh it didn't matter. What did Lizzie care what night gown her friend was wearing, or if she seemed completely different after her amnesia? She feels like she's not supposed to remember that. Like so many facets of life, ti is supposed to be shut off from her, it is out of her sphere of influence. Lizzie drifts off into her dreams against the cotton bed sheets and in her dreams, tries to forget about the intolerable thoughts.

"You're right, because you're not." says a voice, and before Lizzie appears a woman she does not recognize, but she is certain that she knows her. There is something about her snarky smile and that_ 'I-can-get-you-to-do-my-will' _appearance. It reminds her of a black swan on the lake a midnight, her black feather barely illuminating by the full moon. On any other night, she would have vanished into the void.

"Excuse me?" Lizzie asks. This is her own dream, simply a manifestation of her inner thoughts and she believes that she has every right to ask.

"I said- someone doesn't want you to remember what happened between us."

"It's not my place to question." Lizzie said.

"Why don't you take a look in Ciel's library? Why not take look and see if there's not a few books in there that can lead you to a better answer, hm?" her black swan asks. And what a strange thing for her mind to make up, for she had never shown interest in Ciel's library before and had been there on or two times.

She can usually think up a rational explanation for her dreams but she feels as if there is something very much amiss with her mind as of late. She feels like all of her thoughts as of late had been those coming in from an unwelcome parasite, feasting on her dreams and riding on the tailcoats of her imagination. Lizzie knows that her dreams are just dreams and that she has the dreams of a sad, hormonal girl. She is lonely because Ciel is not there. She is dreaming things and making them up because she doesn't have Ciel to reign her in. Ciel is the smart one- she is not. Ciel is the strong one- she is not. Ciel is the resourceful one- she is not. That is how it's meant to be. She doesn't ask questions. She acts cute for Ciel. She is the angel of his house and nothing more. That is how it's meant to be.

"_You're unsatisfied."_

Lizzie gets out of the bed and takes the metal lantern with her. It is late and the moon is high in the sky, she does not care. She will get up and do as she pleases, for she is bothering no one, and though Ciel may protest, he was not around to control her. She has a thin silk housecoat on over her nightgown and soft slippers that make her footsteps on the hard floor inaudible. The Phantomhive manor is empty and barren, for it is made to hold so many people ,and yet hardly anyone is ever home. Many parts of the estate look as if they've never been touched, and like a doll house, are never meant to the touched by human hands. It is only a display of humanity.

_"You wish you didn't have to rely on the love of a man who doesn't love you to get by."_

She walks up to the library door, the large wooden door is locked with a large padlock. It is old and rusted, the key is probably in Ciels' office. Elizabeth scowled at the lock, because she had walked so far and she did not feel like walking back through the desolate halls decorated with austere paintings. The ancient lock nearly falls apart in her grasp as she pulls on it, because Elizabeth doesn't need a key to get into a place. If she wills it, anything can fall apart in her grasp, if she wants it to, and so, so rarely does she ever want it to.

_"You're alone."_

Lizzie doesn't know which of the hundreds of dusty tomes she should be looking at. The library is three floors and comprises a large part of the manor. It has little outlets here and here of tables, desks, and velvet plush chairs by the fire place for the purpose for reading in any position. Vincent Phantomhive was rumored to have read every book in the library- twice. She would divide and conquer, even if it took her until dawn.

_"I can help you."_

She sat complacently at the table with the dusty, leather bound book, the edges of the covers were worn at the edges, the cloth of the inside cover was nubby and frayed to the touch. Like magnet, she was drawn to this particular book, for she had simply started her quest through the library aimlessly picking at books. The spine was unmarked, and the charcoal gray leather did nothing to the make the book stand out from the others. Yet, somehow, it called to her, or perhaps, she was being led to it by an unknown force that had taken up residence within the furthest parts of her mind. It was handwritten, and it's yellowed pages gave off the indication that this could have been handwritten within some monastery. The archaic dialect was older than Shakespeare himself, the contents of the books told of items that Elizabeth did not know of. Symbols she did not understand the meaning of or purpose to, and an assortment of dubious things that sounded like they were up. Was this a tome of ancient magic, or the mad ramblings of a monk who had gone mad from years of isolation, lost within a fantasy world of sigils, incantations, and outrageous tales of a world she never wished to venture towards.

"_Look for the answer."_

She doesn't know what the answer is.

Lizzie dreams of Priscilla.

"What are you?" Lizzie asked, facing her black swan. Priscilla is taller than she is, though she lacks the same womanly features. Lizzie is not sure if she is simply younger and less developed, or if she was caught in a strange permanent stasis. Priscilla is blonde and she is beautiful, much like Elizabeth but her beauty sits on the edge of a razor and drips down to the floor and through the cracks in between floor boards.

"Guess," Priscilla teases and she laughs as Elizabeth's face grows red with frustration. She will not be toyed with, not in her own mind, but Priscilla is under the impression that she can be.

"You're _not _Priscilla," Lizzie said, and Priscilla snaps her fingers, as if she continues to mock Lizzie, as if she doesn't need her, which she does.

"Well, you've crossed out one name in a billion, why don't you consider getting more specific?"

"Tell me what you are." Lizzie said again. Priscilla is thrown back by her insistence, Lizzie will not budge and Priscilla can feel it between them, as she relies on Lizzie's attention to survive, that Lizzie will not accept anything other than this.

"You are different when you're in your own mind, I had never thought that you could be so... forceful. Well then, let me entertain your questions. One- I am a fury, and two, I am a hair width's length from death itself, and you have managed to summon back."

"What is a fury?"

"You have an entire book in front of you... well, you did. You're asleep right now," Priscilla said.

"Then we have time. Go on, pontificate for me, fury."

"I was a fury taking residence in the body of one Priscilla Grenfell and I was attempting to get my own body, until Eisengrid betrayed me, killing my new body and nearly destroying my soul. Yet, somehow, it managed to survive out there in the void long enough to take up residence- inside _you_. Tell me Elizabeth, do you think of me often?" Priscilla asked Lizzie a question, one which she refuses to answer. Of course she thinks of her often, there is very little else of what she thinks of lately, even her concentration on the latest fashion line has waned considerably since that week. It is not her case to be had, but Lizzie suspects it is more than likely that the pomme rouge case was never truly completed, or if it was, that Ciel was omitting something big from the picture. Entire parts of a week do not slip through the grasp of a person, no matter how normal he says that is.

"I cannot take the energy of a human against their will without a ritual. There is no other way for me to have gotten here without you willing it." Priscilla said. Of course a fury cannot force a human, but one can most certainly blackmail a human into wanting to help her, a loophole which Priscilla conveniently does not bring up. She seemed so honest but who was Elizabeth to trust the word of a woman who outright admitted to being inhuman? And really, who was Elizabeth to not trust the word of her future husband, however suspicious his actions might have been.

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you are going to have to, bunny, because unless you want to help me create a new body, I will be stuck here, forever feeding off your delightful thoughts of me. Some of which, I have to say, are quite exciting." Priscilla teased. Lizzie's face grew red with guilt, knowing that someone else was in there, watching the things and reading the thoughts she wanted to keep secret.

"Shut it fury. I have no reason to want to help you." Lizzie said, yet she must have, for if she did not, she could have banished the fury but Priscilla was still there, quite unbanished and still wanted.

"Well, would you like to be host to a parasitic twin, no matter how attractive I may be, I am still resident here."

"I don't trust you."

"That is a fair point, but here is another- I can't exist without your help. In this situation, you can do whatever you want to me, you have the upper hand over me."

"I could be persuaded to help you if you stay in line, I suppose you can be trusted on a short leash."

"How delightful! Get reading, my protege!" Priscilla cheered as she clapped her hands enthusiastically, it was an action that would have sweet and endearing if anyone else had done so.

Elizabeth awoke in the library, the beams of light from morning sun shone down on her through the windows. The trees rustling in the courtyard created waves of shadows that fluttered across her skin. She was groggy and unceremoniously displaced in the library, she clearly looked like a disheveled, foolish girl who spent the night reading in a library she wasn't allowed to be in. Had her mother been here, she would have been thoroughly scolded and called improper, after all, Elizabeth was under constant reminder that she wasn't a proper girl. She hadn't the patience of skills for the fine, dainty arts she was told she had to like, she was more gifted in the chest than a prostitute, and of her temper, how it had made her less-than-delicate frame appear downright beastly. No wonder why Ciel was in Italy, any man would have willed himself away from such a girl! She was unfit as wife.

Even worse still, was how she had spent the night coming in and out of strange delusions. The images of women who were more appealing to her than they should have been flowed through her mind. She tried to brush them off, yet every time the memory of Priscilla brushed gently into the back of her mind, holding her tight in an embrace she refused to break away from. In front of her, is the old tome of magic and incantations that she did not understand, or believe in, though after last night, she may have been significantly more inclined to believe it. They could have been delusions, but the force that had compelled her to do things she normally would not have thought of, put ideas in her head she would not have had on her own. It felt as if her actions were that of an unknown parasite, taking a known form and carrying around her body like a flesh puppet. It was better than to feel like she was alone. For now, she never felt like she was alone, even though there was not another soul in sight, but out of sight? Lizzie knew better than to think that she was alone with these books.

To validate her beliefs, she looked high and low on the subject of the furies, and she beheld information she did not want to believe. She flipped to the page, detailing out the nature of a fury_. A female figure, similar to that of a demon but with more limited abilities. Furies are unable to take the __energy of humans against their own will, and often rely on inhuman servants to do their bidding. Furies are extremely strong and able to implant and transmute the nature of souls themselves, for they exist as souls that occupy the bodies of others. Furies do not have bodies of their own, they must gain energy from existing as soul before they can create a body of their own._ If her mind was making this up, then it would not have had the same conclusion about furies as this book did. Lizzie closed the book, and took her silk outerwear off, so that she could disguise the ancient book with in it. She would be keeping this tome for safe keeping, just in case she needed any more information from it.

She didn't want to know why the Phantomhives had a book like this.


	2. Hidden in the Death of Sleep

Part II: hidden in the death of sleep

"So I assume the fact you're sleeping with that book, is a yes to my little request?" Priscilla asks Lizzie.

This time in their dreams, they are sitting together in a boat across a body of unknown size. Priscilla sits in front of Lizzie in a navy blue lose fitting chemise of a dress, with golden necklaces with pearls and diamonds draped around her neck and bands of gold on her arms. She looks as if she comes from another time. The small rhinestones sewn into her dress sparkled like stars in the night sky, to make up for the fact that the sky before them was empty and black. There is not a moon in the sky to be seen and no light reflects from the black surface of the water that reflected the nothingness of the sky above. Nothing can be seen on the furthest edges of the horizon, and the water before them is endless as it is colorless. In the darkness, neither Elizabeth nor Priscilla can see the water rippling on the edges of the boat, but the gentle swaying motion means that they are there, gently guiding them through the waters.

"I"ll help you get your own body so you will not take mine," Lizzie conceded readily to Priscilla's need for a new body, for reasons she could not fin or understand. She felt almost compelled to help her, as if she wanted to. Yet Lizzie could not find a reason within herself as to why she would so readily give up so much of her time to this Priscilla-not-Priscilla.

"Oh please, you know that I could never take you... by force, that is."

"What do I have to do to help you get your new body?" Lizzie asked.

"Murder, to put it bluntly," Priscilla said. Lizzie gasped in surprise and nearly clutched the pearls around hr neck in shock. Her? Murder? Another person? She didn't know enough of demons and furies to expect murder first and all other possibilities second.

"What?" Priscilla raised an eyebrow at Lizzie's confused and disgusted expression. How could she have ever expected something different? "You heard me. You think you can create a body from nothing, well you can't. It needs a certain amount of sacrifice."

"Why don't you just kill someone yourself, hm?" Lizzie responded, putting up her defensed immediately, as if putting a wall of ice between them wouldn't melt in the white hot hands of a fury, whose soul burned so fiercely.

"Oh I can't touch them with my hands until the final sacrifice. They must be pure and die pure, if one mistake were to be made, such as the mistake that treacherous mongrel made, it would ruin the entire ritual and put me back to the edge of nothingness."

"I know exactly how to put an end to things, should you get out of hand." Lizzie said, a smirk was plastered on her face. She did not know that she could smirk, but it felt nice. She felt like she could be equal to Ciel, and take on a role similar to his, and that she did not have to be a simple sidekick, unknowing and unquestioning. The idea was liberating but the unfamiliar liberation frightened her.

"Well, I give you credit for figuring it out quicker than those halfblooded idiots," Priscilla said, doling out complements to the pretty blonde girl before her. Oh, how the fury had misjudged her as stupid and more and more it became alarmingly obvious that Elizabeth was not stupid. She was just afraid to be anything else than the mask of an idiot that she put on. Unlike Priscilla, Lizzie had yet to learn that power does not sit idly between the paws of men, and that womanhood, in its own right is as powerful. In the hand of the fury, she is a deadly weapon.

"I'm not stupid," Lizzie said with her tone full of indignation. She knew she was not the pristine untouched person that her aunty always told her to be, nor was she the prudent, controlling woman that her mother told her to be. No, she was someone else entirely and the thought that she could be something other what she was ordered to be was not an idea that flowed to easily with what society had taught, not taught but forced, into her.

"You do a good impression of a stupid girl, let me guess, you're a trained killer too?" Priscilla laughed at her, her tone was patronizing, and Lizzie shook her head. Lizzie did not reply to her.

"Well, let me give you your first mission task: retrieve me some apples." Priscilla said.

"I don't understand why you would need them." Lizzie admitted.

"You better get reading some more then, my dear lamb!" Priscilla waved Elizabeth goodbye.

Elizabeth awoke in a pool of sweat, her hair stuck itself to her forehead and the back of her neck. Now she was entirely sure that she had just been enlisted as the single knight in a questionably ethical army for an inhuman beast that required ritual sacrifices, and for whatever reason, apples, to live. It's been a pretty heavy week so far and for Elizabeth, it's not even Wednesday yet. It was time for her to once again crack open the old spell book that was most likely cursed. She wondered for a second why she would help Priscilla, the more she got to know the fury, the more that she detested her. Lizzie could have pitied her for her misfortune, but she wondered if Priscilla didn't just bring it upon herself to make others hate her with her attitude. Perhaps not even intentionally.

She thought about the servants that Priscilla had, and how she had not seen them since that night where she had gotten into the accident that Ciel oh-so-carefully covered up. There were the servants that she kept around her at all times. They could have been servants, in human ones, which Priscilla drew in to serve her because she could not force a human to do the kind of work that she wanted done. The two french ones that worked under Priscilla as her 'personal chef' and her 'maid', who Lizzie could tell hated Priscilla and made it no secret. Those two looked miserable, as if they were waiting on the bedside of a dying, vengeful monster. They looked so cheerful on the outside, but their smiling eyes were dead. They reflected nothing but despair.

There was Eisengrid, who Priscilla lavished over, calling him her faith 'pet', and how she was given him as a 'gift'. He was tall and mysterious, radiating an attitude and feeling not different from Sebastian. His sanguine colored eyes and white hair made him look as if he was a foreigner from a world that was not our own. Priscilla made an emphasis on treating him as if he was nothing but an obedient puppy to do her bidding. Lizzie had dismissed it as careful play between lovers, but she recalled something else. The ways that Eisengrid looked at Priscilla when she was not looking back. He never looked happy, but when the blonde turned her head to face him, he always put on a smile, but his crimson eyes had never moved from their mournful positions. Did Priscilla know? Did she care?

"Oh you're so lucky, Lizzie! I haven't even started a courting a man, much less taken up residence in his manor. Earl Phantomhive is so rich, and he _spoils_ you, " Lizzie's friend, Clarice says as they have elevenses in the courtyard behind the Phantomhive estate.

Of course she has not begun courting a man, because only a really desperate man would ever date a girl who looked like her, despite her family's wealth. The largest dowry wasn't enough for the men gentry to consider a homely girl, they were superficial to the core. Even Lizzie herself wouldn't have stood a chance on the open market, it was 'lucky' that she was engaged to Ciel. He was sickly and had one eye, so he probably wouldn't be able to find anyone himself, for that matter. Clarice was one of the few that bothered with Lizzie, for they were in the same boat. Rejected by he other girls in their social groups, but for different reasons. Clarice was homely, had teeth that stuck out at odd angles, and it was clear that her mother drank during pregnancy. Lizzie was engaged to someone who everyone was criminal sociopath, and she herself was a killing machine trained in murder from birth. How funny, how ironic, how the things that brought them together would turn out in the end.

"Well, our marriage is arranged since his birth, so we're very familiar. He does not mind if I invite over friends, he trusts me completely." Lizzie said. She wore a light dress that was clearly inspired by Jane Austen, and oh the irony of the situation that was stuck in a marriage that she never second guessed. Ciel was her Mr. Darcy, or at least he tried to be, and his performance was truly disappointing.

Together they sat in the garden, talking about idle objections that Lizzie had no emotional investment in. She smiled as Clarice prattled on, munching at a green apple that Lizzie asked Maylene to provide for their small meal. Clarice has this blank expression on her face before she falls over in her chair and hits the grass with a thud, her expression is blank as Lizzie drags her through the outside cellar door into the wine cellar where Ciel keeps all of his parent's liquor that he claims that he has 'never touched'. In the cellar, she has already provided the pentacle and the apple earlier. Clarice was not conscious to feel this, Lizzie reminded herself. She would not feel this. All the pain is the pain that Lizzie inflicted on her soul by killing someone so close to her. She's not awake to feel this. She's not awake to protect herself as Lizzie runs the silver dagger through her heart. The blood of a virgin runs over the circle binding her to Priscilla. She is no longer innocent, but the energy of her soul polishes off some of the tarnish of the soul of the fury's. The silver is pure, the apple signifies the betrayal of the sacrifice in favor of serving the purposes of someone darker than god.

That night as she leaving the Phantomhive manor, poor Clarice, poor, poor dear, she was in a carriage accident. An accident, the paper says. That night, the wheel of the carriage slipped on the unpaved private road just outside of the Phantomhive manor. Clarice was an up and coming young man with so much potential, they all say. That night, she had gotten into a horrid accident, how unfortunate for her and her family. Her best was truly bereaved for her loss. The carriage had slipped and oh, how it went straight into a ditch! Clarice was thrown out of the carriage and was sadly impaled on a piece of a wood from the carriage. She died instantly, they said. The coroner said that she must have been awake during the accident, because of the apple that was in her mouth and the half eaten apple found near the wreckage. Lizzie makes it look like an accident, oh, the tragic accident that poor Clarice had gotten into. She drives the carriage herself and jumps off the horse as the carriage rolls over a large indentation she made in the road. It topples over, and Clarice is thrown out of it. Lizzie takes a piece of wood from the smashed carriage and stabs it straight through the already existing stab wound in her chest. Oh, the poor, unfortunate Clarice, and the sad 'accident' she had gotten into.

"You're wonderful!" Priscilla beamed in Lizzie's dream. They are in a palace of crystals. This Priscilla wears a dress hat is sheer and a nearly white shade of blue adorned with crystals around the hem that reflect the sparkle of the dream scape they are contained in. Lizzie can not believe her mind can create this, so she assumes that is Priscilla's magic. It is all an illusion that Priscilla creates using Lizzie's mind like a tool, and uses her energy like petrol.

"I feel dirty." Lizzie admitted.

"You can't be, my dear. The ritual works by draining the victim of her innocence and imbibing it to me, and to a lesser extent, through you as well."

"I'm speaking metaphorically." Lizzie said.

Oh yes, human are friends with metaphorical speak, aren't you? I'm afraid we immortal creatures of the night are a more literal breed. When we say something is killer, we mean it."

"I see that." Lizzie says, She stares at the crystal floor that reflects her face back at her. She does not want to see herself, she does not care if she looks ravishing in a dress that matches Priscilla's. She can not think of herself positively.

"Talk to me, what has you all bent up?" Priscilla asks Lizzie, as she is unaware of her suffering. Priscilla can tell that something is wrong but she does not understand why Lizzie seems so distance and so miserable. After all, Priscilla does not realize that she has done anything wrong.

"I just killed someone."

"You were good."

"I don't know how to deal with what I have done."

"Four more, lamb. Four more and you will have done something greater than murder, you will have created a new life," Priscilla said. She reaches up one of her black nails and brushes away one of the tears falling down Lizzie's cheek. She kisses her gently, her soft lips pressed against Lizzie's wet cheek for a second where Lizzie let out a sob that was quieted by the fury's kind action.

"Does it get easier?"

"That depends on your attitude." Priscilla said. She realizes that to Lizzie, all of this seems very, very wrong. Just now, Priscilla too, realizes that what they are doing may be considered immoral.


	3. We've Never Celebrated Anything Here

Part III: we've never celebrated anything here before.

She's like an animal, but Elizabeth is like a poacher. You see, she, the second out of five victims, is an impoverished street urchin. She is a small, filthy, illbred and underfed. She lives without family is the old workhouse, sweeping candy dust off the factory floors in sixteen hour shifts. She knows no man, no fun, no purpose in life but to work back and forth, with little sleep or rest. She spends her time encroaching upon the rich who dare walk past her- and she strikes, mugging them and selling her new-found things so that her dinner would be something other than hard tack. So when she sees a fine blonde lady with fragile, stick-arms, a tight trained waist, and a mint dress chiffon dress, it is easy to see why she would jump at the chance. The girl looks expensive, and her clothes would make more than a fine penny over at the pawn shop. She'd eat like a king for a week.

It was the wrong time of the month of Elizabeth, it was time for bloodshed and she was walking through town at night unguarded. For she had no need of an escort of any kind, and so she was left quite 'vulnerable', as it would appear to the outside. Lizzie wore a mint green silk chiffon dress she bought from a designer from the Choiseul area of Paris. It had five ruched layers reaching all he way down to her ankles, and only a small pink rose that was clipped to the toes of her brown leather boots was peeking out. She wore a fine brown mink around her shoulders, a matching bag and wore gold jewelry given to her as a gift from her father. She hair was tied up into a large, mint hat decorated with pink roses. Her waist is tied to a tight seventeen inches, which isn't even the farthest she can tie down to, it was just the size of this dress in particular. As far as the fine young women in London were, Lizzie was the most desirable in looks- or would have been, if not for her life choices.

The street urchin knows nothing of the type of scandal that Lizzie faces with in the high life. Her future husband, and her family's legacy are unknown, so he street urchin views Lizzie as the perfect target. She looks so petite and so vulnerable, but as the unwashed girl comes nearer she notices that Lizzie seems much taller up close. She pulls out a small knife, hardly even a dagger, it's a dull, rusted old steak knife she stole, and she lunges towards Lizzie with it, in hopes of stabbing her. Lizzie however, catches her wrist; and with a quick motion, breaks her wrist and twists her lower arm until they can both hear the bones crack. The girl falls to the cobblestones in a heap of poverty and agony as Lizzie stands above her, her eyes are green like the scales of a predatory fish. Lizzie has a sword and the very point of it is nearly touching the tip of her nose. Lizzie runs the would-be mugger through with her family's crested sword.

It's not time to kill her yet. Lizzie ties a handkerchief around the screaming girl's neck and drags her back into the alleyway. It is dark and foggy, and nobody is around. Quickly, hastily, she draws the sacrificial pentagram in chalk on the ground. The chalk hardly moves above the surface, as it is drawn in a single, smooth motion. She tosses the girl into the center of it, she hardly weighs a thing at all, she's all bones, sinew, and acute starvation. Lizzie reaches into her brown leather purse which is decorated with a pink little rose at the clasp. She pulls out a bright green apple which matches her eyes and cuts a wedge out of it with the tip of her sword. Lizzie removes the handkerchief long enough to avoid being bitten and to shove the apple wedge in her mouth. Then, Lizzie raises her sword and in a fluid, jabbing motion, impales her to the ground with it. She manages to embed the sword in the ground, and has a difficult time pulling it out. She doesn't care to clean it up.


	4. Red Reprise

Part IV: reprise

When Lizzie woke up that morning, she had found that the dress she wore yesterday was cleaned of blood entirely. She thanked Mr. Tanaka mentally for not asking why the front of her dress was covered in blood, and also for having years of know-how to remove the stain completely. It must have been years of working with the Phantomhives that taught him not to ask, though she was sure that he always assumed the best of her. Lizzie would never kill anyone, she is born into a family of knights, of protectors. She only draws blood to save others, or herself, and technically for that last murder that was true. She never planned on killing that poor mugger, but they tried to rob her blind at the worst possible time and they paid for their mistake in blood. If they had not approached her with all attempts to do her harm, then they would not have died. Or this is how Lizzie finds a way to justify the murder that she has committed.

Lizzie also noticed a small, white animal taking up residence on the pillow beside her. It is a long, fluffy white thing that looks like it should be killed, stuffed, and worn around someone's neck. It isn't quite like a ferret and has small rounded ears. Lizzie reaches her hand forward and gently strokes behind one the soft ears. The little ermine lets out a loud squeak and perks up instantly, arching itself up as if it were attempting to do a charade of a king cobra. It looks silly. It's endearing.

"Hey, I was sleeping," the little ermine complains.

"Priscilla?"

"This is my backup body, alright? I'm not strong enough to possess another human. This is the best that I could manage."

"You're so fuzzy," Lizzie giggled.

"Is that a steak?" Priscilla asked, her ears perked up instantly at the small of meat. It was the curse of being a carnivorous little ermine. She smelled steak and it smelled delicious.

"Yes it is." Lizzie said. Her breakfast that morning was the breakfast of champion athletes everywhere. One large sized steak, cooked medium, with a side of two eggs, scrambled with a bit of chives, two crumpets with lemon curd and butter, and a generous helping of bacon along with a baked potato. For someone who practiced fencing for eight hours a day, this was mandatory and delicious.

"I am so hungry, feed me some of that steak." Priscilla flipped over on her back and waved her little paws in the air until Lizzie conceded and gave her a piece of steak.

Lizzie opened up the morning newspaper while she drank her coffee. She flipped through the gossip panels out of curiosity, perused with a morbid curiosity trough topics she shouldn't care about like politics and the economy. Then the signs of her more morbid curiosities were spawled across the page for everyone look and see.

_ The Pomme Rouge, Reprise. Two months after the attacks ended, a new corpse of a familiar __serial killer shows up on the streets of London. Yet another young women badly stabbed with an apple piece in her mouth. The injuries are severe, it appears to have been done with a strong man, possibly with a dagger or a straight razor. Oh when will the madness end... _

"You do know you're getting into trouble for this now, right?"

"Of course not, silly! Ciel is working on a case in Italy with his butler. He won't be back in a long time," Lizzie said, she gently pressed her finger tip to Priscilla's nose and fed her a piece of her morning steak.

"What."

"He's going away to Italy to do an international investigation for her Majesty with Sebastian."

"So there will be no meddling?" Priscilla asked.

"None at all! Scotland Yard is completely useless and run by those whose jobs can be outsourced to a young man with no formal police training," Lizzie informed her. After all, why would the queen need the Phantomhive and Middleford families to protect her if Scotland Yard and her own guards were functioning well within the confines of the law? They were _not_ functioning well and that is why the question of getting caught never once reared it's head into Lizzie's thoughts. She was better equipped to handle a murder case than any of the officers in Scotland Yard and that was without her being the actual culprit of the case.

"Has anyone told you today that you a brilliant mastermind?"

"No, but it's not even ten o' clock yet."


	5. Shame on Me

Part V: shame on me for not recognizing much

"What's going on?" Priscilla squeaked. She was asleep one moment and the next minute she awoke to a loud bump, and hit her soft fuzzy head on what appeared to be the side of a hand bag. This of course means, that Lizzie seemed to have no trouble with no even bothering to wake her up before carting Priscilla off to god-knows-where.

"I stashed you in my bag because I have somewhere to go today and I don't want you alone in the house all day."

"You could have packed snacks," Priscilla complained.

"There's an apple in there," Lizzie said. Oh yes, an apple. As if Priscilla wasn't already getting sick of those to begin with. There was also some lipstick, a powder compact, and some silk handkerchiefs. Hardly what Priscilla would consider decent traveling companions at this point.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm meeting up with my older brother and we are attending a fencing tournament for all the best fencers in England to compete. This is the finals." Lizzie said cheerfully.

"Is your brother a fencer?"

"He only made semi-finals, sadly. He's just there to watch," Lizzie whispered. She looked around to make sure that nobody noticed that she was communicating with a talking ferret. Ermine, actually.

Priscilla peeped her head out of Lizzie's handbag and and looked at the tournament center. It was swaggy and all the rich people had come to see people wave swords at each other for fun. Back in her day, they did same thing, but with the safety gear. The entrance was decorated with floral decorations and signs that congratulated the winners of the semifinals, and welcomed the guests to watch the fencers. There were crowds of people, mostly men, chattering away over small talk. Priscilla even noticed that there was a snack buffet serving curry. She knew right then and there that she would be sneaking out for some of that later on. Lizzie was lifting her up by her long torso and held her up high.

"Edward, can you hold Priscilla for me?" she asked as Priscilla squirmed and and chirped in surprise.

"Sure." Edward held out his hands and Priscilla bit his finger, and crawled his arm before he could push her off. Edward sighed and looked at Priscilla with a look of dread and horror on his face. He had no idea where Lizzie even got this weird looking thing. It looked more like a scarf than a pet and it bit him. He bet that the eternally haughty Ciel got it for her. Priscilla glared at Lizzie who only patted Priscilla on the head and smiled.

"You be good and if you don't bite him, I'll get you some of that curry." Lizzie said and Priscilla let out an enthusiastic squeak in surprise. She couldn't help it, she was a carnivore at heart.

Edward and Priscilla were seated in the front row of the venue watching the first fencing match. Priscilla was getting bored out of her mind. Edward was a blonde guy with green eyes, and Priscilla noted he looked like Lizzie but he had a more stern appearing face despite his obvious enthusiasm towards matching the matches. He was eating popcorn out of a red and white striped cardboard box and whenever she knew he was to enthralled with the match before him to pay attention, she would reach her little paw down into the box and grab a kernel of it. He was easy to trick and Priscilla could tell that he had a pure, untouched, soul. she wondered if she could sacrifice him on the altar, but assumed she would most likely be unable to convince Lizzie kill her own brother. There was only so much kisses could do, even ones from a fury, who in all honesty, was damn good at kissing.

"She's up now," Edward said as he held up his pamphlet which said who the constants were and which rounds they were playing. Priscilla's head perked up, was Elizabeth really the finalist.

"For the final round- Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Middleford will be matched against her Majesty's butler, Charles Grey!" the announcer spoke loudly. Edward booed audibly from the audience.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer laughed, "It's obvious who will win this match". He was laughing at Lizzie.

Edward booed even louder than before, and Priscilla could swear up and down that he even heard him threaten to murder that guy by slitting his throat while she slept. Now, that she could help with. Charles Grey was a tall man with long, grey hair that was tied loosely on one side. He wore a white uniform with gold trim. His sword was a french rapier with a cupped golden handle hat matched his uniform. The announcer only snickered in condescending manner when she gave him the _'I will end you, swine'_, look as Lizzie walked past him. Lizzie stood in front of him in the dress she wore earlier. Her waist was laced to it's tightest, she did not remove her large brimmed hat, or her tall heels. She choose to fight him, carrying her family's crested sword, her mother's word, that looked completely out of proportion with the rest of her. The sword had the appearance of something only a highlander, or king arthur could handle. Yet, that heavy, jeweled instrument of a knight's templar was being wielded by the most feminine woman in the room, who wore sparkles on her cheeks and flowers in her hair.

"Can you even lift that sword?" Charles Grey laughed. The audience laughed along with him with the exception of a single young man that booed him and called him an arsehole, and a small white land mammal that squeaked in contempt.

"Didn't you think to change? You look ridiculous. Are you going to your knitting club or whatever it is you women do after this?"

"The finalists perform in street clothes." Lizzie said, pointing out the rules of the match.

Charles Grey only laughed and pointed at her rudely, motioning the audience to mock her further. Yet, it was time for the match to start, and Lizzie would start it if he was present or not. Grey was caught off guard when she lifted the sword easily and immediately jabbed it forward. That sword was borrowed from her mother, and was given as a gift to her for giving birth to her brother. A man couldn't carry it, but Lizzie carried it with the memory of her stern, unwavering mother in mind. She stabbed him in the thigh without mercy, and without hesitation and withdrew the sword faster than Grey could fall to the ground. It's what her mother would have done, had she caught anyone speaking to Lizzie in that manner. It was a cheap shot, but the rules of the final match were: street clothes, any sword, and no safety points. She qualified to win it in any way she pleased, and right now, she could only be pleased by the sounds of a grown man crying beneath her feet.

"The winner of the finals on the master level, by a_ technicality_," the announcer emphasized technicality, as if to undermine her success, "Elizabeth Middleford." he muttered without enthusiasm.

"If you get beaten by a little girl like this, then how do you guard the queen? Such absolute lack of concentration, Grey. It is a wonder that she hasn't replaced you." Lizzie said, and on her way out, she kicked him in the stab wound with the pointed toe of her shoe. She was not a woman of mercy, even less so after the murders. She wondered to herself if she would have so willingly harmed him before she met Priscilla, but decided that Priscilla's influence was a positive one. one. She wanted to be in control, she felt in control. She wanted to feel strong without being ashamed of who she was, and she felt only pride at what she had done.

Lizzie had cleaned the blood that was dripping off her sword and onto her dress in the ladies' room. The other women in the room gasped and clutched their pearls as Lizzie asked if they could guess who won the final round with a smile on her face. As she exited the washroom with a clean sword and the tiny droplets of blood cleaned off her pale pink dress, her mother and father were behind Edward and Priscilla, Marquis Middleford had his arm around the Marchioness's shoulder.

"I'm so proud of you Elizabeth." Frances said. In the master rounds of fencing, they were mostly instructed to wear street clothes and use their own weapons because it was not a true fencing match. It was primarily a show of back and forth blocks, hits, and all the points were scored based on techniques and fouls. Nobody was actually expected to make a hit on the other fencer at this level, as all master level fencers were expected to be able to block any hit towards them. Except Charles Grey, who was too busy being a jerk to pay attention to the match and ended up with a severe injury as a result. Frances might have covered her face with her fan as she laughed at him.

"Are you proud of me enough for a hug?" Lizzie asked.

"Quickly, dear. The award ceremony is soon." Frances told her and the family four embraced each other in a hug. Charles Grey limped by on crutches and glared at the family's group hug but Priscilla perked up and stuck her tongue out at him as he walked by. While they were still close, Priscilla took the chance to jump on Lizzie's shoulder and nip at her ear.

"Oh before, I forget. I have to feed Priscilla." Lizzie got a plate of curry and held it up. Priscilla perched reached over from her shoulder and quickly devoured the chunks of meat.

"What is that, Lizzie?" the Marquis asked.

"This is Priscilla. Isn't she a darling?"

"Will Ciel get a trip to the hospital from her?" Frances asked, poking a joke at Ciel's allergies.

"He only gets sick from cats, mother."

"That boy would get sick if he stayed up past midnight."

"Thank you for letting me borrow your sword," Lizzie said as she quickly changed the subject from her mother's dissatisfaction with the boy she was about to marry.

"It was a treasure to see you use it the way it is meant to be used," Frances praised Lizzie. For, she would have done the same thing in this situation. Grey was lucky that she and her husband were up in the private boxes watching the match or she would have marched down there herself and given him a lesson in respect.


	6. Obsessing Over Broken Hearts

Part VI: obsessing over broken hearts

That night, Lizzie propped Priscilla on the pillow next to hers, but Priscilla only wanted to crawl up on Lizzie's pillow and look at her in the eyes. Priscilla's eyes were round and black, like marbles and they were staring right. at. her. It was nerve-wracking! Lizzie stroked Priscilla behind the ears until she fell asleep and only then could Lizzie herself fall asleep. Like all her nights before this, Lizzie found herself in another intimate dream scape. This time they were sitting on bright white sanded beach over looking a sea. It was hot there and Priscilla was dressed for the occasion in a scandalously short (Lizzie could see most of her thighs, goodness!) red silk dress with a large, floppy hat.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a beast with a sword like that?" Priscilla asked.

"Because I am ashamed of it," Lizzie admitted. She was ashamed of who she was. All her friend she kept it from. To Ciel, she had told him she quit her sword lessons years ago, but instead she had quit schooling in order to practice swordsman ship all day, every day. He wanted a beautiful english rose, and Elizabeth was an amazon; and the amazons were never mentioned for their beauty.

"Wait, you beat the hell out of that guy in less than thirty seconds and you're ashamed? Baby doll, the only one who should be ashamed here is that obnoxious dandy boy."

"Ciel would hate me if he knew that I hurt someone. He doesn't like a strong woman. He likes frilly things and lace, and wearing heels. If he knew that I competed, he'd probably say that my hands were too manly to wear a wedding ring."

"Then take your manly hand and clock him," Priscilla said in a brusque manner. She made a punching motion with her hands to drive the point home.

"But I love him!"

"He's an asshole and an idiot if he doesn't realize what a great girl you are!"

"But I love him!"

"Then you're stupid for loving him!" Priscilla said.

"I didn't mean to call you stupid, kitty, I just meant that it is stupid to love someone who can't appreciate you. Look at you. You were the most beautiful girl in the place and you were the strongest there. Why can't that be enough for him? What man could possibly look at a woman who has skills and beauty and decide that he isn't interested?"

"Ciel."

"Then he's not a man, he's a tasteless little fairy."

"That doesn't make me love him less," Lizzie cried. She had her head in her hands and she bawled out like a baby, despite her previous strength, this was a true display of pathetic emotional vulnerability. Priscilla had no idea how to console her at all.

"Well it _should_."

"I don't want to talk about this, Priscilla."

"And why not?" Priscilla pushed the issue further.

"Because I don't think you could understand how I feel. I'm _human_ and you're _not_. I don't think you could ever understand how it feels to be in love with a man, and give him every part of you, only to know that it'll be never be enough for him. You don't know how I feel when I lie and act stupid to make him happy, only to know that if he saw what I did today, he'd just stay in Italy to avoid me forever. You'll _never_ know what it feels like to abandon your personality just to make a man who will never truly love or appreciate you, just to keep him there." Lizzie choked out. With every gasp, her words became less and less coherent, but Priscilla knew what she was saying.

"When you're done picking up the pieces to your broken heart, you can listen to me." Priscilla said, walking away and leaving Lizzie behind to sit there and cry. She knew exactly how _that_ felt. She was just as capable of respecting Lizzie's assumptions as she was capable of throwing a tantrum about them, and the second one wouldn't help her very much.


	7. When You're Not Suffering

Part VII: it's easy to say when you're not the one suffering

"Hey lamb of mine, I found you a new victim," Priscilla said.

Lizzie was sitting in the aptly named sitting room with a book in her lap. Normally she would do something thoughtless like embroidery but today, she wanted to get more readings on sacrificial murders done. It seemed quite careless to her that she had not done her research before hand. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a collar of white beading lace with a length of black ribbon threaded through; it buttoned with black heart shaped buttons down the front. The bottom hem of her tiered dress was scalloped and embroidered with cameos of mermaids, dragons, and other fairy tale creatures. She wore white and blue striped gloves that were a gift from Clarice she had not worn before. Priscilla jumped on her lap, and consequently, on her book at the very spot Lizzie was reading.

"And how did _you_ do that?" Lizzie asked as she peered down her nose at two, big, round, black eyes.

"I can walk around when I'm like this, you know. I even caught a mouse and ate it. That is aside from the point, I found a virgin for you to kill for me and this time it will be really _easy_," Priscilla said. Lizzie sighed and closed the book. She did not like that Priscilla was making this choice for her but still, it just made it easier for her to kill, right?

"I don't know..." Lizzie said.

She was standing in front of the church, and she feels uneasy. Lizzie walked through the church without anyone noticing or spotting her. All the good religious folks at this massive religious complex had gone to bed by now. Lizzie had disguised herself in a nun's outfit but she knew the minute anyone pulled off her habit to find her golden curls, she'd be discovered for good. Her family had never been overly invested in religion, and so she had no idea whether or not it was likely that someone would catch her walking around the church courtyard late at night. Priscilla sat on her shoulder and gave her directions to pick the locks in the chapel. Lizzie hissed under the pale, blue moonlight to catch the lock at the right spots before the heavy, golden door opened for them. Only sinners were here this late at night. Sinners and their sacrifices.

"You will be fine."

"This feels like it should be worse than the others..."

"By worse you mean better," Priscilla informed Elizabeth, "The ritual works by robbing purity and I need the extra purity. The more pure and sacred the sacrifice, the stronger my new body will become. That is why sacrificing an unclean soul would kill me."

She said this so blithely, as if she were calling out the proportions for a chemical equation. In her mind, Priscilla had all of this down to a science. Which sacrifice is the most pure. When is the best time to kill the one. To a fury, this was just a way of life; it was as casual and to her as brewing a cup of tea. The souls of the those she robbed of their purity were as meaningless as tea leaves steeping in hot water, the blood Lizzie shed was no more vile than to her than cream. To Elizabeth, there was no small undertaking in the ritual murders. She recalls every face that she has harmed and she takes note that they were people, that they mattered to someone, that they would be missed. That she remembered them, and that she did not take the act so lightly. The ritual worked by taking the purity from these girls, but on the inside, Lizzie felt filthy, burnt, and blackened like the husk of an old manor.

Lizzie walked up the aisle. As she did, each of the candles in front her lit the next foot, an so on until she reached he bottom steps of the altar. Then, all of the candles up on the flourishes lit and she saw the next sacrifice. A sleeping nun who was strung up by her wrists with piano wire. Blood was already dripping to the white and grey marble below her. The ritual pentacle had already been drawn with fast, steady paws. Lizzie could even saw the bloody paw prints leading away from it. She felts sick to her stomach. She knew the nun up there wasn't dead yet. She knew that she suffered.

"_So innocent, you will be the perfect sacrifice."_

Her head hurts so much, it's throbbing in her head, and she can't expel it. The nun in on her knees, undressed save for a veil thrown over a face and a crown made of thorny roses. It's white with blood dripped down it, and she is unconscious, but suffering. Her back is skinned and the skin is cut in away in flaps that resemble angel wings. For they are strung up by the ceiling by wire, a long with her hands that are in a praying motion. She is praying for Lizzie to kill her. Priscilla puts on a stage of a pathetic girl that wishes for death, but when she receives it, it is far from the utopia of peace she thought it would be. Under the veil, she has long, black hair. Priscilla is creative, to her this was no different than a play put on by a master puppeteer. There is a snark and snide little smile in this display. She does not just wish for a sacrifice, she wishes for show. Her show is as humorous as it is cruel. She must have been laughing while she did this. Lizzie does not, and will not appreciate the art in this.

Lizzie does not step forward to view anymore, she can not bear it. Priscilla is not in sight, and she made sure to run away while Lizzie's back is turned. Lizzie is crying, and she feels the humiliation this woman must have felt as she was so cruelly displayed for her murderer. This is not a treat, this is not a performance, this is a mockery. In her hands, Lizzie flashes that dagger and she aims it at the body, moving it through the air as if she was saying her prayers. She reaches back and throws the dagger at her, it lands directly between the ribs, and into the woman's heart. She has the same speed and accuracy with a dagger as a circus performer has during a knife-throwing show. Lizzie can listen to her gasp and groaned as she raises a bit, and slumps back down. This felt so disgusting.

Her dreams are black like her disposition. Her beautiful blue dress is torn at the hems and tainted with ash. Her home is burnt down, and the bright red stained her gloves. The blood will never dry from her hands, the ash will never be washed her clothes. She'll always feel like this, she'll always feel as cold and blackened as she did that December morning. She doesn't even know why she bothers trying to hide it anymore. She doesn't know she why she bothers with these pastels if her souls is forever stained red like a harlot's lips. She doesn't know why she bothers with the chiffon and lace when she's heavy and strong like brocade or velvet. She doesn't know why she pretends to fail at chess strategies when she can take down a grown man in seconds. She doesn't know why she bothers with teddy bears and carnations when she's always preferred the deep crimson rose. She doesn't know why read nosense like Alice, when she'd rather read up on all the secrets that she never allowed to now, secrets that were too obscene for a lady, but suited her just fine.

Lizzie knows why she bothers with these trivial actions. It is because she does not want Ciel to hate her. She fears him when he should be the fearing her. She caters to him when she deserves to be treated as queen. She disrespects herself for his affection just to save Ciel the time of having to disgrace her himself. To a lesser extent, she is afraid to be hated by Priscilla. Priscilla is dependent on her, she can't live without her help; and with a calculated stab Lizzie could end her life if she so pleased. Priscilla should be afraid of her. The fury can't live without her, and Lizzie is acting as though it is the other way around. She is afraid that if she loses Priscilla, she'll really be done for. If she can't keep someone completely dependent on her whims happy, then she must really be unlovable. It is here that Lizzie realizes, that she doesn't need Ciel's affection, nor does she really care if Priscilla likes her or not. She will have her own affection, and that means more to her than anything else. She will not just be honest with herself, she will show the true colors of Elizabeth.

"Did you enjoy the show, baby doll?" Priscilla laughs.

In an angry shuffle of vermillion taffeta, Lizzie parades into the rotted out courtyard where the statues crumbled and were over taken with ivy. Priscilla is standing by it, and she looks ravishing, really. Lizzie doesn't care, she's pissed off and humiliated. She's not a doll, she will not let others dress her according to their fashion. She is nobody's slave. Priscilla looks nonchalant like she always was, as if this all means so very little to her. Lizzie doesn't need Priscilla, Priscilla needs her. She will not be walked over, ignored, and then tossed aside like she's a thing to be played with. With a hand bejeweled with rings, Lizzie backhands Priscilla.

"I'm not a slave like your familiars and I will not be treated like one."


	8. Sickness

Part VIII- sickness

The fourth girl was already dying when Lizzie had come like the wall of death to find her. She knew what she had seen outside of the hospital, a blonde reaper of death in a suit come to reap her soul. While he fixes his hair in a mirror, Lizzie is already upstairs in the ward where the little girl is dying. She is delicate and fragile, and she is suffering. All of the laudanum and opium in the would not be able to cover up the fact that she never had long for this world. All of the age of four and she already had invited death to her bedside. She didn't deserve to die, she deserved to get better. Fate did not get a favorable roll in her direction, and she suffered so needlessly. She did not deserve to die, but in the least, she deserve to die as quickly as possible. It would have been tragedy for her to take her last breath staring up at the green ringed irises of an indifferent, uncaring god.

She wasn't just a check on the list, she was a person with a life that never got to grow. She was withered and dried up, she was cut from the stem before she could bloom. Her death was quick and kind and she would not be forgotten. She would always be another stain on Lizzie's hands. She would never look at herself without seeing the child with her. Others would forget, others would not care. Child death is so common these days, oh whats another life to take, anyways? Four children died in a factory accident, cut in half by the unchecked machinery. Nobody cared. One girls dies from a congenital disease in the terminal ward and that is nothing to them at all. The reaper is confused when he reaches the body that is nothing more than a cold husk without a soul to pluck, but he doesn't care. It's just one less cinematic record to go over.


	9. Like All the Others

Part VIV- do you regret me like all the others?

"Why do you exist?" Lizzie asked Priscilla.

It is a question she had not asked before, but now was as good as any. She wasn't sure how much longer Priscilla would be around her. She and Priscilla had not spoke in a long time, Priscilla was always avoiding her now. After their fight, Priscilla kept distance to avoid further confrontation, because she felt like an idiot and regretted it. She never once apologized for this, and time passed on. Lizzie would only be more angry with her, so she said nothing, and did nothing. She only made an escape. She feared that it was too late to say something, and if she did, she'd be told off for it being too late. The blood stained veil of silence had only had things between them worse. She was invisible like the air like them and only now, before the last kill did she bother showing up.

"I am a fury, I am born of fire, spite and hatred."

"Who do you hate?"

"_You_," Priscilla said. Lizzie gasped and looked at her as if she had been the one to receive a slap in the face by the person you'd least expect to slap someone in the face. If this was an apology, which it was never meant to be, it was the worst one ever told.

"You sit here and you mope over how Ciel will never love you. You agonize over it constantly. Every part of you is all about pleasing him and getting his attention. If I wasn't here, you'd be out all day shopping to make sure you got just the right corset so he'd notice your breasts more. You waste your life in him. If you're god at something, you stifle it because you don't want to be good at anything other than getting his attention."

"You lie to yourself constantly. You don't think about much, do you? It's all about attention for you. It's all about lying every second of every day. You tell so many lies to so many people that the only way someone could ever get to know you is by force. There is no Lizzie. You become whatever people mold you into because you're too stupid to see you're destroying yourself. You've spent so much time destroying yourself that even you don't know who you are. You have no sense of self, you're worse than a familiar. You're just flesh to whore out for attention, and when you don't get what you want, you crumble and become the victim of your on hubris."

"And guess what? He doesn't even love you! I know for a fact that he's in love with that butler because I saw them kissing and he practically raped that ungrateful little fairy you call your fiance! Ciel fucked another man behind your back and you tell yourself the same lies over and over again because you can't face the reality you live in."

She had fallen into the same trap with Gabriel. She had given up everything that she wanted because she was convinced he was the best man out there, that he was the only one for her. She gave up her soul because she wanted this perfect man to love her, she bent over backwards for him on many occasions, and gave herself to him as an act of devotion. He destroyed her for fun and then said that her death wasn't tasty enough for him to even end. She wasn't even left to die by him, he didn't even care that much. She gave up everything for him and lost her humanity. All for a man who would never love her. She was beautiful, and now she was a monster. She could have had it all, she could have been great, but she was nothing but a fury now.

"I did the same thing, and that is why I am no longer human," Priscilla admitted.

Lizzie is great and beautiful, she is talented and strong and she shine brighter than any star in the sky. Yet, her insides are rotting and black because of a man who will never love her. The reality of this hurts Priscilla so much because she loves Elizabeth. Elizabeth is in love with Ciel the way that Priscilla is in love with Gabriel. They are nothing but broken pieces destroyed by those disgusting men, thrown aside like trash even though they are made of gold. She wants to stop Lizzie from having the future that she has. Priscilla will see to it that she will not tarnish at the careless negligence of an idiotic manchild. She will not let her angel fall to the ground in a heap of broken wings and shame. She will not let her be weak. She will save her from the trap, even if Lizzie hates her for it.

Priscilla grabs Lizzie by the shoulders and kisses her, she doesn't care if Lizzie hates her right now. She'll Lizzie her that she'll never need to cry about a man that doesn't love her because she has love that isn't defined by a contract. Priscilla doesn't need Gabriel, he's a fag anyways. She has Lizzie, who is so pretty, and genuine, and helped her out just from he kindness of her own heart. There is nothing in his for Lizzie, and there is no benefit for Priscilla to love her. She loves her genuinely because she has the sword skills beyond a master, she loves her because she's smart and resourceful when she lets herself be. She loves Lizzie for the sake of loving her. For once, she does not have the ulterior motive of getting further in life, or wanting to own her. She just wants to be with her, and she is closer to that than she ever has been before.

"Priscilla I-"

"Do you want to end up like me?" Priscilla asked. Her skin is black and burnt, Lizzie can see the scars of her pain all over her. This is the fury. She has been torn apart and sewn back together a million times. She doesn't have to be like this, she can be better, and she does not have to do his by herself.

"I want to be me," Elizabeth says as she blinks back tears and holds Priscilla tightly. She will not be destroyed. She will come through this alive, she will not be imprisoned to her life as a bride to be. She doesn't have to be alone, she doesn't have to be trash if she doesn't want to be. Her life isn't defined by what Ciel wants of her; she's done giving a damn about what he wants.

"Then get your fucking knives out," Priscilla says as hey hold each other, "It's time for us to finish this together."


	10. You Won't Find Me

Part X- you won't find me in the back of your mind

The door to the Middleford estate was being knocked on rather loudly, and the servants did not answer the door because Edward Middleford was walking past it to begin with. When he opened the door, he expected some large, burly hunting friend of his father's from the sound of the knock. Instead he was greeting by a slim woman with copper brown hair and black eyes. She has skin pale like white tea roses, and she wore a deep green two piece dress with a large bustle that trailed behind her. Around her neck she wore a white ermine scarf, the animal stuffed whole, with it's jaw used to clasp the long tail. He could see all of her breasts but the nipples peeking up from the lace edging of the low cut bodice. She wore a matching green tricorn hat propped up in her hair with a long, black ostrich plume shooting behind her. She look positively ravishing. Edward had never seen a woman so beautiful. What could she even be doing here?

"Can you get Elizabeth for me, Edward?" she asked politely. Her voice was low and sultry, it was enough to make Edward turn red and stammer.

"D-do I kn-n-n-ow you?"

"I'm a friend of Lizzie's, she's told me so many good things about her protective older brother. My name is Leda, by the way," she said. With a clammy hand of his own, Edward shook her hand politely and noticed a large, red ruby on an ornate ring on her finger.

"Leda!" Lizzie cheered. She rushed down the stairs wearing a deep blue dress made of silk that flashed purple in the sunlight. Her hair was thrown up into a large black hat decorated with heliotrope crystals and purple and blue roses. Edward did not notice how Lizzie's hands gently grazed Leda's as they greeted each other. He assumed the quick cheek kisses they shared were platonic. He did not notice the matching ruby ring that Lizzie wore instead of the engagement ring Ciel gave to her. Edward just noticed how Lizzie had seemed genuinely happy for the first time in so long, and he was proud of her for having so many kind, and beautiful, friends.

"I'll be waiting for you in the carriage, baby doll," Leda said she walked away, leaving Lizzie to retrieve her handbag from Paula.

"Is she taken?" Edward asked Lizzie.

"Her lover is never going to leave her side."


End file.
